


Marionette

by SuperWhoLockianFangirl



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Bad Therapy, Character Study, Codependance, F/M, Harley Quinn - Freeform, Implied Violence, Manipulation, Off-Screen Murder, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9999554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperWhoLockianFangirl/pseuds/SuperWhoLockianFangirl
Summary: Dr. Harleen Quinzel is fresh out of school and starting at Arkham Asylum. She insists on being the Joker's new therapist. What could possibly go wrong?A brief-ish character study of Harley Quinn and her relationship with the Joker.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So… I’ve been listening to the song “Harley Quinn” on repeat for several days, and also I have kind of wanted to do this for a while…. (Actually it was the original main premise of the Batfamily AU that I've been working on, but then that project ballooned into what it is and now it’s just a big side-plot of part one, so…) *This* isn’t going to be that lengthy or in-depth—I hope—but still, the song, plus rewatching some Batman: TAS episodes just made me really want to write this…

_Hopelessly in love_  
_And it’s bringing me down,_  
 _I’m in love with the murderous Clown_  
 _Let’s dress up and go for a ride,_  
 _I’m all yours, I’ll be your partner in crime_  
—Anna Murphy, **_Harley Quinn_**

 

* * *

 

****

Harley took a deep breath and straightened her glasses. It was freezing inside the dark halls of Arkham Asylum and she shivered, telling herself that it was just the cold that was making her hands shake. She had been standing outside of the room for what felt like hours, but she hoped it had only been a couple of minutes. The orderly stationed outside of the door was looking at her oddly, so it had probably been longer than necessary.

“Are you alright, Dr. Quinzel?” he asked.

She cleared her throat and nodded jerkily. “I’m fine. Fine. Just. A little nervous, that’s all.” She grimaced at her thick Brooklyn accent. She’d worked hard to keep that out of her voice ever since she had started med school. She laughed to try and steady herself, but she didn’t think she was convincing anyone.

“I can’t believe they assigned you to the Joker,” the orderly shook his head. “Jesus, first year out of school and they’re throwing you to the sharks.”

She bristled at bit at that. “I asked to be his psychiatrist,” she said sharply.

The man blinked at her, incredulous. “You do know what happened to the last one?” he demanded.

“I’ve read his files,” she said. “That’s why I wanted his case. I can get through to him.”

The orderly seemed unconvinced and she tightened her jaw. People had doubted her for her entire life. Her parents doubted she could get into medical school, her peers thought she couldn’t make it as a psychiatrist, the hospital administrator had actually laughed in her face when she had requested the Joker as her patient. But given that no one else wanted to do the job he’d relented. She wasn’t about to let anyone make her think she wasn’t capable.

Squaring her shoulders she marched through the door and into the private therapy room. She froze just inside the entrance, finding herself pinned down by a pair of dark eyes. He wasn’t at all what she had expected. It wasn’t as if she had never seen a picture of the man—she’d lived in Gotham for most of her life, there was no way she could’ve avoided knowing what the Joker looked like—but seeing him in person was an entirely different experience.

He looked so menacing and almost demonic in photographs, but up close he looked incredibly human. Perhaps a bit ethereal, with the eyes that somehow seemed to see into her very soul, but mostly just like any other person on the street, except… just a bit _other_. He was very well-groomed, his hair slicked back and away from his face, clean shaven and smiling a crooked, amused smile that probably should have put her on edge. He’d been a patient long enough that the green dye had all but entirely washed out of his hair, and without the shock of the bright white face paint and red lips he looked fairly harmless. Charming, almost.

She took a deep breath and stepped fully into the room, letting the door close behind her. The Joker was seated on the opposite side of a small table, hands clasped together in front of him. The handcuffs glittered in the yellow light and she found her gaze drawn to it, wondering what he would do if they were gone.

“They must be desperate,” he finally spoke, his voice higher than she’d imagined, full of amusement like there was a joke only he was in on. “Sending a pretty young thing like _you_?”

She cleared her throat and pulled out the empty chair across from him, setting his file down between them as she took her seat.

“I’m Dr. Harleen Quinzel,” she introduced herself. “I’m your new psychiatrist.”

There was a strange moment of absolutely stillness from the Joker before he burst into a fit of peeling laughter. It was odd, Harley thought, but hearing it now the sound wasn’t nearly as… chilling as she would have expected it to be. He calmed himself after a moment and shook his head, almost sadly.

“Oh, sweets, are you in over your head…”

*******

“Can I ask you a question, Harley?” The Joker asked one day in the middle of a session.

Harley blinked and straightened her glasses, avoiding looking directly into his eyes. “Only my friends call me Harley,” she said.

The Joker’s eyes widened and he sat back in his seat. “Are we not friends?” he demanded, looking wounded. Harley bit her lip and hesitated for a moment.

“I’m your doctor,” she said carefully. “You’re my patient.” She tilted her head to the side. “Besides, we can’t possibly be friends; I don’t even know your first name.”

He snorted. “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, doc,” he said. “Neither do I.”

Harley blinked at him, pen poised over her notepad. “You don’t remember your real name?”

He grinned at her, teeth flashing dangerously for a moment. “Well,” he said slowly. “It’s fuzzy, you see. I’ve got all these puzzle pieces floating around in my skull, but they don’t always fit together to form the same picture when I try to shove the little bastards in place. Sometimes I remember it one way, sometimes another.” He laughed and his eyes sparkled mischievously. “If I’m going to have a past, I prefer it to be multiple choice.” **(1)**

“So you have no recollect of your past? Your childhood? Parents?” She pressed, writing as quickly as she could. The Joker rarely opened up like this and she couldn’t afford to miss this chance at a possible breakthrough.

His eyes narrowed for a second, thoughtful. “You know… I _do_ remember something. About my father…” he paused and Harley leaned forward, pen pressed hard into the paper. His eyes gleamed and he leaned forward. “Perhaps I’ll tell you about it… _if_ you’ll answer my question.”

She hesitated and lifted the pen from the pad. “I—” she was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was a convicted criminal and she was supposed to be his _doctor._ “I will not be your Clarice Starling,” she said firmly.

His brows inched high on his forehead. “Quid pro quo, Dr. Quinzel,” he said playfully. “You’re so desperate for any little glimmer of information. Surely answering one little question isn’t going to be a breach of our… professional relationship.”

Biting her lip, Harley glanced down at her notes. Her glasses slipped down her nose and when she looked up again she met the Joker’s dark stare dead-on and her breath caught in her throat. She found herself nodding slowly.

“One question,” she said. “And then you tell me what you remember about your past.”

He grinned brightly. “That’s the spirit!” he said excitedly. Leaning forward, he steepled his fingers together and rested his chin on his hands. “Now. Tell me, _Harley_ , dear, why did you ask to be my doctor?”

Harley felt the blood drain from her face. He was not supposed to know that she _requested_ this position. How had he even found out? She opened her mouth to answer and found the words dying on her tongue. His eyes were boring into her skull and she knew that if she dodged the question she would never get him to open up to her.

“Because I want to help you,” she said slowly, not sure entirely how to explain what had drawn her to him, to his case. She had heard all the stories, seen all the news clips, read the articles. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known what she was getting into when she had asked to be assigned his case.

She sat up straighter and pushed her glasses back up her nose. “I don’t believe that anyone is beyond redemption. I don’t believe that you’re… evil. I think that you’re sick, and I want to help you.”

The Joker’s eyes went blank and he went entirely still for just a second. Harley braced herself for his reaction, thinking it would be as explosive as his reactions usually were. Instead, he lowered his hands very slowly and tilted his head, meeting her eyes.

“That’s really nice,” he said. “Simple, idealistic. Naïve, even. Doctor, if you don’t mind my saying so, I think you might belong here more than I do if you’re going to start spewing childish things like that…”

Harley frowned. “You don’t believe you can be helped?”

He laughed. “Harley, sweets, I am not some victim you can pull from the fire. I don’t _need_ help. You can’t _fix_ me.” His eyes glittered. “I’m not broken.”

She tapped her pen against her pad. “You don’t believe that there’s anything wrong with you?” she asked carefully.

His grin nearly enveloped his entire face and he spread his hands as wide as the chains would allow. “I am perfectly, one hundred percent sane.”

Harley raised a brow and scribbled quickly in her notes before looking back up at the Joker. “I answered your question,” she said after a moment. “We did have a deal.”

The Joker looked thoughtful for a moment, something Harley couldn’t quite understand shining in his eyes.  “I suppose we did. And you did give me your answer. So… Story time.” His grin widened, impossibly, and Harley found herself leaning forward once more, eager for any sliver of information about his past.

Tapping his fingers against his chin, he leaned back in his chair, eyes roving to the ceiling. “Hmm. What story to tell…?” Suddenly, he shot forward and giggled. “I know! I’ll tell you about my father!”

“Your father?” Harley spoke carefully, worried that any input from her would throw him off track and make him as stubbornly cryptic and unhelpful as usual.

“Yes,” he nodded. “Now, I want to caution you, dear, this is not going to be a pleasant story. My father was not as… happy and fun loving as I am. But if you insist… It all started when I was just a wee little boy…”

*******

“What you’re proposing is ludicrous, Miss Quinzel!”

Harley stood from her seat, brows furrowed. “It’s _Doctor_ Quinzel,” she snapped. “And it’s not ludicrous. I think this could really help him!”

“ _Help_ him?” the hospital administrator demanded. “We are talking about the _Joker_ , Doctor. He isn’t here to be _helped_ , he’s here to be contained and kept away from the rest of Gotham!”

A scowl settled on Harley’s face and she crossed her arms. “He’s a person just like anyone else in this city, and he deserves treatment and help just like any of our other patients!”

The man barked a laugh that made Harley want to slap him. “Are you even _aware_ of who our patients are?” he asked. “We are housing some of the most unstable and dangerous criminals in all of Gotham! We’re doing more than enough just keeping them locked up and away from the public.”

“We’re doctors,” Harley protested. “We’re supposed to heal and help!”

“We’re _Arkham_ doctors,” he said. “We don’t have the luxury of _healing_. You of all people should know exactly how our attempts at ‘healing’ have gone with most of our patients, especially the Joker.”

“They never gave him a chance!” she insisted. “He’s being treated like an animal in here! Maybe if we loosened the chains, lowered the security and treated him like an actual human being—”

“He _isn’t_ a human being! Hell, he’s hardly any better than animal. He’s a monster, Dr. Quinzel, and I trust you will remember that if you want to continue as his therapist.”

Harley huffed angrily. “If you would just listen—”

“This discussion is over.”

“But—”

“Do not press your luck, doctor,” he growled. “I can reassign you with the stroke of a pen. Now get out of my office.”

*******

Sitting cross-legged on her bed, Harley stared down at the files and photographs spread in front of her. Various notes she’d taken during the months that she had been treating the Joker, along with the notes of his previous doctors and police interview transcripts. She was probably becoming a little obsessed, but she knew there was more to the man than what he was showing the rest of the world and she was determined to crack him.

After he had told her the story about his father, about the abuse that he’d suffered as a child, she had tried to get the police to look into any old cases for possible connections. Maybe if she could dig up his real name, his past identity, he would be able to remember more. Maybe it would help him put together the pieces of his past, figure out who he really was…

But Detective Bullock had just laughed at her and told her she was crazy. So had the hospital administrator. The Commissioner hadn’t exactly laughed, but the skeptical set of his brows and the incredulous tone in his voice when he told her that it would be nearly impossible to find such a small needle in a haystack had told Harley all she’d needed to know.

She’d been looking herself, these last few months. Weeding her way through old newspaper articles and any public police reports she could get her hands on. She hadn’t had much luck, but that only seemed to spur her on. She was on the verge of a breakthrough. She could feel it.

*******

“You’re awfully quiet today, darling,” the Joker mused in the middle of one of their sessions. “Something on your mind?”

She blinked at him, startled out of her thoughts. She turned her eyes back to her notes and straightened her shoulders. “I was just… thinking,” she said. “I really don’t think this approach at therapy is helping you.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Harley! I quite enjoy going around in circles. It’s like riding a never-ending carousel!”

She frowned. “That isn’t what I meant,” she said. “I just… I want to try another form of therapy on you. Something a little less… orthodox. Less… restrictive. But the administration doesn’t approve, and so… here we are.” She slumped a bit in her seat.

He smiled at her—the closest thing to a real smile she’d ever seen coming from him.

“Well, now, Harley,” he said, leaning forward. His fingers just brushed hers on the table and she froze, electricity shooting through her. “You should know by now I’m a big fan of breaking the rules… What the administration doesn’t know won’t hurt them…”

*******

A few weeks into their less… professional therapy sessions and Harley realized that the Joker probably had more influence over her decisions than was healthy. She noticed… but she didn’t quite care.

“You’re always fighting to be so stiff and proper, Harley,” he remarked one day. “Forcing that accent away, hair pulled back into that tight little bun, glasses hiding your pretty eyes…”

Three days later Harley exchanged her glasses for contact lenses and was wearing more makeup than she had since high school. Her hair was hanging loosely around her shoulders and she found herself slipping into her Brooklyn dialect more and more often.

Sometime during Christmas she wore red lipstick and found herself blushing furiously when the Joker commented on it.

“You know, sweets, red is really your color. It suits you. You should wear it more often…”

And she did.

Soon, their sessions were about as informal as they could get while he was still chained to the table.

“I think you’re right,” he said, nodding eagerly. “This place really isn’t doing me any favors. How can they expect me to heal when I’m treated like some animal in a zoo—or worse, a lab rat to be poked and prodded at by heartless doctors!”

“I really think you’d be better off outside of this stifling environment,” she said, seriously. “I wish there was something I could do to make them understand…”

“Well… maybe they don’t have to understand…”

Harley’s brow furrowed. “What d’ya mean?”

“We’ve been breaking the rules so far, sweets. What’s one more little crack gonna do?”

*******

In the end, Harley wasn’t entirely sure how she got to where she was, but she didn’t think she would have changed anything if she had known how things would have ended. Alarms were blaring, red lights flashing, and she was standing over the orderly she’d just killed with her own two hands. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins and she didn’t think she’d ever felt so alive.

She pulled the door to the cell open, grinning madly when she came face to face with him—his eyes gleaming as she launched herself across the floor and into his arms, smearing her red lipstick all over his mouth in her eager kiss.

He laughed and lifted her up into his arms for just a moment before putting her back down on the ground.

“Alright, sweets, you’re the doctor,” he said. “What’s the next stage in my therapy?”

Harley giggled and gripped a long-barreled revolver tightly in her hands, presenting it to him like it was a priceless diamond. “I dug this outta the evidence lockup downtown,” she said reverently. “Thought you’d like to have it back.”

His eyes lit on the gun and he snatched it from her hands, checking the chamber for bullets. Seeing it full he laughed again and yanked her into a hard vicious kiss.

“Oh, Harley,” he said, laughter still playing in his voice. This time Harley felt like she was in on the joke with him. “I have a feeling you and I are gonna have a lot of fun together…”

*******

_All sense gone_  
_I never thought I’d kill someone_  
 _You see, I really try_  
 _But now maybe, I’m crazy_  
—Anna Murphy, **_Harley Quinn_**

**Author's Note:**

>  **(1)** Stole this line from “The Killing Joke” 
> 
> So… Kind of happy with this. Not sure how I feel about the Joker—I am never very pleased with how he turns out when I write him, but still. I think this was fairly decent, and I had fun exploring Harley, however briefly. Hope you guys enjoyed!
> 
> (Also, I promise I am working on the next chapter of "We're All Mad Here"! I've been struggling with it, and writing in general, these last few months. This is the first thing I've written in a long time. An update is coming, guys, I promise. Just be patient a little longer! I'm sorry!)


End file.
